


The Taste of Flesh

by TheProfoundBlade



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Claiming, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Season 1, Season 2, Season 3, Tasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6259777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheProfoundBlade/pseuds/TheProfoundBlade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnar asks the Priest a strange question that takes years to answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wonderment

**Author's Note:**

> My first dive into Athelnar! I hope you all enjoy.

“Have you never wondered about the taste of flesh, priest?”

Athelstan dropped the fishing-knife and stared, wide-eyed and shocked, at the overly-comfortable Ragnar splayed over a bench nearby. The Earl looked up from a hole in his leather-vest that he had been fiddling with as he was asking, and took in the priest’s expression for a moment before sitting up slightly, huffing a grin and glinting those dangerous eyes playfully.

“No no, I mean not-”

He clumsily grabbed a fish from the basket nearby and faked munching down on it while looking Athelstan in the eye. The priest calmed down slightly, blinking finally before grabbing the fishing-knife again and with a deep sigh started gutting a new fish.

“Do you understand my meaning?”

Ragnar was impatient. He tossed the fish over, in front of Athelstan and grinned devilishly when it made the smaller Englishman jump. 

“Yes,” Athelstan sighed and continued his work again, “I understand, Ragnar. And no, I have not.”  
“I refuse it,” was the simple answer from Ragnar. 

The tall Viking jumped on his feet, elegantly and nimble which seemed impossible at a first glance for this big brute. But Athelstan always noticed how gracefully the Earl was on his feet, even when he had been in battle or injured… or both.

The priest quickly returned his eye to the work again, silently and mentally reprimanding himself for letting Ragnar distract him so much. He felt his hand shiver slightly when Ragnar inched closer, his belly hitting Athelstan’s elbow.

“Especially so long after staying here. You think not of how it may taste on your lips? On your tongue? Maybe it is salty, like the fish we store in the winter…”

Ragnar’s voice became lower, his gaze still strong on Athelstan’s face. A face that had not moved but was noticing Ragnar’s big index finger trail down the slimy, gutted fish.

“Or maybe it tastes sweet, like the honey we use in our ale…”

Athelstan held his breath, feeling Ragnar’s lips near his ear. This game was all too familiar, Ragnar pushing the boundaries and limits of Athelstan’s faith… or more, his patience, more and more with every round. 

“I wonder how you taste, Priest... I imagine you taste quite… delicately.”

The playfulness in Ragnar’s voice made the words feel innocent and childlike, but the heat radiating from him made Athelstan understand that it was none that innocent. Just as the priest slowly finished cutting down the side of the fish, Ragnar’s finger still placed on it although a little firmer, he felt the hot heat of Ragnar’s breath against his neck. 

“Ragnar, please,” he whispered, closing his eyes. God was watching, Athelstan knew. God did not want this for Athelstan… But Athelstan didn’t know if he wanted it for himself, not anymore. 

“Please what, Priest,” Ragnar whispered in reply, the words feeling like the finest cloth Athelstan had ever felt on his skin. 

A soft wetness slowly marked a patch of Athelstan’s bare neck and ending at the lobe of his ear, those dangerous teeth gently biting down on it, tongue still tasting the soft skin. Athelstan clutched his hands tight against the table, his body shivering. He could feel how Ragnar’s hands started grabbing at the soft edge of his tunic, the viking’s hot-heated groin slowly pressing closer and closer.

“Please, I cannot-” 

Just as Ragnar grinned and a hand was about to trail underneath the priest’s tunic, someone called for them from the great hall. Athelstan broke free of the spell and quickly moved out and away from Ragnar, moving to a corner and picking up some carrots as Rollo barged in, half-drunk and annoyed as always.

Ragnar’s eyes were seething with annoyance as he stared down his brother. Apparently there were Earl-duties to fulfill, so the endless toying with the Priest had to wait for later.


	2. Temptation

Athelstan had gotten permission to bathe in Ragnar’s bath that evening after working on the fish all day, and had just settled in the water as he felt a presence looming behind him. It felt powerful and all-seeing, and even though he so wished for it to be his Lord, he knew who it was… and if he had to be quite frank about it, he wanted that person even more.

“I see you are enjoying yourself my friend,” Ragnar’s voice echoed in the room. Athelstan leaned his head back against the wood, sighing and relaxing.

“It is quite comfortable, yes. I see why you prefer this over the river.”  
“The spoils of Earldom!” 

Athelstan smiled softly at the exclamation and sank a little lower in the water. Ragnar moved closer, so close that his body-heat started radiating onto the light-wet skin of Athelstan’s neck and face. Knowing he was being observed, Athelstan initially tried to cover himself under the water, but what was the point. Modesty and corporal decency was not something the Vikings thought much of, and the Lothbrok family had seen each other in the nude more than once in their lifetimes anyway. 

Ragnar sat down with a loud thunk as his ass hit the floorboards, making Athelstan jump and open his eyes again. The brute viking was silent as the grave, those piercing blue eyes so clear in the dimly lit room. Outside, a feast was going, but the Earl had decided to join his friend’s bathtime instead of drinking with his kinsmen.

“So,” Ragnar broke the silence, eyes glinting with that adventurous flare, “are you not curious, Priest?”  
“Curious for what?” 

Ragnar smiled, his lips curling up so neatly as they always did, his features almost feline. He leaned in over the barrel, holding onto the edge with his calloused hands, leaning ever-so-close to Athelstans face, never breaking eye contact.

“How you tasted?”

Athelstan pulled away slightly, feeling his face heat up quickly. He pushed his hands between his legs and closed his knees, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. He swallowed a little hard, Ragnar still smirking and those eyes ever-so blue and wonderful…

“N-no,” Athelstan exclaimed finally, “it does not interest me Ragnar, I have told you already.”  
“Why do you lie to me, friend? Friends do not lie to one another… And did you not tell me that to lie is a sin in the eyes of your God?” 

As though he was a serpent, a serpent as dangerous as the one Eve was seduced by, Ragnar slithered onto his knees and leaned closer in on Athelstan, bracing his arms on the opposite sides of the wood of the barrel, caging the little Englishman in easily. It was frightening yet so enticing - this must have been what the apple must have been for Eve. Within reach, temptation pulsing and flowing into the air, every sense screaming “take it, just take it!”.

“Yes, but…”   
“But what?” Ragnar’s voice, almost a whisper, still sounded so playful. “Are we not friends? Or was it not a lie? I see that curiosity in your little English head.” 

Athelstan swallowed again, looking down and away. Ragnar’s eyes were too powerful, his presence too strong. It truly was as though the son of Odin was right in front of him.

“We are friends-”  
“Ah! So you admit you were lying. You wish to know.”  
“Ragnar, I-”

As ever unpredictable, the Viking bounced up from his seat and quickly undressed. When Athelstan understood Ragnar was undressing completely, he looked away and swallowed hard, curling his body in a little closer to itself.   
Without warning or hesitation, the Viking stepped into the bath in front of Athelstan and sat down, adjusting their legs against each other’s thighs, leaning back against the wet wood.

The water was splashing over the edges for a small while, the bath far too small for the both of them. It did not seem to bother Ragnar one bit.

They stared at each other for a while, Athelstan still trying his best to hide himself, eyes averting Ragnar’s as much as possible. Ragnar was smiling, cocky as always, slowly leaning his arms over the edge of the barrel, cocking his head slightly to the side, observing his companion closely. 

“You tasted as I expected.” 

That made Athelstan’s eyebrows curl into confusion. He pressed his lips tight together, sitting forward slightly.

“And how was that?”  
“See? You wish to know, you curious little Priest--”

Ragnar cringed but his smile returned quick after Athelstan had splashed his face with the bathwater. The Priest looked almost angry, and it made Ragnar settle down a little, licking his lips as though to taste the aftertaste of Athelstan lingering on them.

“Firstly, you tasted like a man. Musky, earthy. Strong. Which is good. Some could have mistaken you for an Argr when you first arrived here.”  
“Ragnar.”  
“But you also tasted like… the first drops of rain after Midsommer. Fresh. Clear.”

Athelstan ran a wet hand over the area Ragnar had tasted him earlier, brushing slowly over the area, his eyes locked on those deep blues. 

“Pure?” the Priest breathlessly asked.  
“Yes. Pure. I have not tasted anyone like you before.”

The booming voices from the feast became less and less prominent, as though the room itself zoned in on the Priest and the Viking. Ragnar squinted slightly at Athelstan, who looked oddly satisfied with hearing purity be in his taste-description. 

“Do you not wonder how I taste, Priest?”

Athelstan sat back, somehow calming down a little more. If this… brute… could taste purity, then maybe he wasn’t as lost. 

“No.”  
“But why not?”

Ragnar sat forward quickly, a bit too quick for Athelstan’s taste, and the intimidation came back slightly. The water splashed and rocked between them, their chests heaving in tempo. Ragnar almost seemed upset, almost seemed hurt that Athelstan did not wish to taste him.

“I do not want the sin of the flesh, Ragnar. When will you understand?”

The Priest tried to smile softly, trying to show his companion that it was alright. Ragnar would have none of it.

“It would not be a sin, Priest! I am not a sin, my skin is not sin!”

He roared, a little loud, Athelstan flinching. He noticed the sadness in Ragnar’s eyes growing quicker and quicker. After a moment of Ragnar breathing deep, his eyebrows furrowed deep and sad, Athelstan reached a hand up from the bathwater and reached it slowly towards the rugged, always-dirty face of his Viking companion.

“I know it is not, Ragnar. But I fear I may fall for temptation.”

His hand landed softly on the side of Ragnar’s face, brushing tenderly over the bruised cheek and rough beard. After a moment, the Viking’s eyes growing wide, he leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. Athelstan smiled, softly, knowing that Ragnar was desperate for the tenderness. After Lagertha had left, Ragnar’s own softness started to fade with everyone except Athelstan…

“Am I… temptation?” Ragnar asked, opening his eyes slowly to look up at his Priest. Athelstan’s breath got caught in his throat, his body humming.   
“Yes,” he breathed. 

Ragnar just smiled and pressed harder into the soft hand.


	3. Adventurous

Years passed, Athelstan in England with the settlement and king Ecbert. Ragnar felt more and more alone. But he felt that maybe it was better, for them both, that temptation was kept away. They both had duties, both had responsibilities… even if all Ragnar could dream most nights were of tasting Athelstan again, and not just his neck.

Ragnar’s heart swelled with glee when Athelstan returned with him to Kattegat. They talked about Paris for hours on end, Athelstan's eyes glinting with new adventure and passion which set new fires to Ragnar’s own desires to explore. He needed the Priest, needed that temptation to keep his sails filled with wind and his inner seas calm enough to travel far and safe.

One evening, Ragnar invited his companion out to a hillside to share some ale and roasted elk, far enough from Kattegat that they only heard the loudest yells, laughs and shouts, far enough that the people on the shore and pier were tiny dots. They smiled at one another as the sun started to set and the clear sky turned darker, and Ragnar listened carefully as Athelstan told stories of king Ecbert and the chambers full of art. 

“I also have to confess something to you, my friend.” 

Ragnar rolled around on the grass, laying on his stomach and looking expectantly up at his companion. He munched down on an elk-thigh, the bright eyes starting to glint as much as the stars that were slowly appearing. 

“I… fell under the sin of the flesh.”

Ragnar’s eyes grew wide, freezing for a moment before punching Athelstan’s thigh playfully, smirking.

“You sly little worm you! Was it that girl, the girl I saw in England?”

With a blushed smile, Athelstan looked away and nodded, his shame seemingly left behind in England. Ragnar’s heart swelled and a moment after it burst, stinging deep in his chest.

“That is.. Wonderful, my friend, wonderful. I am happy that you got to experience it. I am sure your God looked away, granted you permission.”

Athelstan nodded again, a little less happy, but he looked up a moment after to lock eyes with the Viking. He drank a bit of ale from his drinking horn and titled his head, observing Ragnar’s ever expressive face. It looked pained, but fighting that pain to look thrilled. An expression Athelstan was not sure he had ever seen on his friend. 

“She tasted like fresh spring roses. But also sad, like heavy rainfall in October. I could tell there was much sorrow with her.”

With sad eyes, Ragnar nodded and looked down, fiddling with the juicy meat in his hands before throwing it behind him, a bit angry. He kept looking away, his body visually starting to tense more and more. Athelstan scooted forward in his seat, rolling slowly on his back and turning his head to look at the frustrated Viking who was still looking away.

“I wonder how you taste, Ragnar Lothbrok. I imagine it’s quite… adventurous.” 

Ragnar turned his head back to face the Priest, slowly, his own eyes blown and wide. His mouth was opening slightly, as though he wanted to speak but no words could find their way to his tongue. Athelstan was smiling, softly as always, his eyes shining from the moon slowly rising over them.

“Am I still…”  
“My temptation?”

Athelstan moved a little closer, shuffling in, turning to lay on his side and support his head with his hand. He saw how Ragnar was slowly hiding down behind his own big, muscular arm, deep blue eyes barely visible but glowing with anticipation.

“Although we were many miles from each other, Ragnar, you were always my biggest temptation. The snake and the apple in my paradise. And I am willing to bite, now.”  
“Tasting does not require biting, Priest,” Ragnar silently joked, confidence starting to seep into his eyes again. Athelstan smiled and laid down completely, their faces so close to touching, only blocked by Ragnar’s thick arm.

“Let me taste you, King Ragnar.”


End file.
